The Undercollege, Part 10: Surface Tension

Originally published on Facebook Notes, 26th August 2011

Rudolf returned to consciousness to find himself being borne along by strong arms, his head just above the level of the water. Salt stung his eyes and throat, and he retched and blinked furiously. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus. It took some time for his eyes to clear enough to get a good view of the person holding him.

"Struggle not," she was ordering.

A pair of firm, sun-browned female breasts bobbed above him, bared to the elements. Despite her tan, the woman's skin had a strange translucent quality to it. Her dark hair was arranged into many plaits that skipped behind her as she swam. The other person holding him had a similar complexion, his muscular torso equally bare. He was supporting Rudolf's legs as they powered along through the water. Twisting his head around, Rudolf could see that the lighter Mike was being carried along by another male naked above the waist, a giant of a man who did not seem at all impeded by the bulk of the wiry engineer. This man also sported a long beard, and both it and his hair were plaited in the same way as the woman's.

"Struggle not," she commanded once again, jabbing something hard and sharp into the small of his back. Rudolf winced as pain lanced through him.

"Ow," he replied with feeling. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"I am called Nausicaa," the woman spoke, confiding in him as a guard to a condemned prisoner, as if she knew that he would not be able to make use of the information. "These are my brothers, Halius and Laódamas."

"That's... agh... not exactly what I meant," Rudolf wheezed, coughing up a hidden cache of seawater. "Who are you people? And why is this not Cambridge... where are we?" Nothing but sea could be seen in all directions.

"Here?" Nausicaa waved her hand dismissively, displaying the small three-pronged flint spear she'd used to prod him earlier. "Here is nowhere. My siblings and I were keeping watch over Charybdis. The mouth opened and you emerged, so we are taking you to the Isle of Ely." She hesitated, then added "We are the Ael."

A growl of displeasure emerged from the mouth of the giant, Laódamas. "Answer not his questions, Nausicaa," he rumbled. "He is a hostage. He is one of Them."

Rudolf didn't respond, because he'd just spotted something that shocked him to the core. His eyes had been drawn down, past the woman's flat, slender navel to where the curve of her hips began. Instead of legs, Nausicaa's body below the waist segued into a long, smooth, green-brown tail, which beat the water rhythmically to propel them along. Rudolf suddenly felt the urge to retch again.

Mike was awake, but his blue-grey eyes were roving listlessly, and he was hardly moving. Meekly he allowed himself to be carried on towards the Ael's familiar destination.

*

The Cathedral Church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity of Ely, known locally as the Ship of the Fens, was a familiar landmark to Fen-dwellers, to whom it was visible for many miles around. Its octagonal Lantern Tower, not much younger than the ancient University of Cambridge itself, was unique in design, soaring upwards supported by eight trusty flying buttresses. To Rudolf and Mike, however, the whole edifice was at present noticeable primarily for its absence. Ely Isle - here a true island, surrounded by wine-dark seas lapping at its shores - did not at all resemble the town they remembered. Although the lie of the land was still recognisably the same, gone were the buildings and the boats. Instead the sandy-dirty shoreline was riddled with burrows, and it was into the mouth of one of these that the two students were taken.

"Back underground," Rudolf muttered. "Brilliant."

The tunnel did not go on for long. Soon it opened out into a wider chamber, still lit dimly by the reflection of the sun on the waves outside, and Rudolf was deposited on a rock ledge half out of the water, with Mike dropped beside him. The one who had been called Halius dived down below the water, his anguilliform tail flicking momentarily above the surface as he disappeared into a submerged opening.

Finally motionless for a moment, Rudolf and Mike concentrated on purging their throats and lungs of the foul brine. They had little time to collect their thoughts before several more of the strange eel-folk undulated into the room. They were led by a male almost as large as the giant Laódamas, although considerably older. This one's face was worn by several gill-like lines, and his hair, unbound, had the slime-green quality of seaweed. On his brow was a crown of sorts, an ornate circlet of shells. "Daughter," he boomed, his tone ominous. "You bring denizens of the Underworld. Why have you led them here?"

Nausicaa's alien brown eyes drifted down in deference, although it seemed to Rudolf that a lively intelligence flickered behind them. "The mouth of Charybdis opened, and we found them there. They emerged not prepared for the consequences." She paused. "If we had not intervened, they would likely have perished."

"Outcasts of the underworld?" the patriarch responded, mossy eyebrows raised. "Belike it would have been better to leave them." He turned to the other two Ael who had brought Mike and Rudolf with them. "Halius, I know that you follow your sister in everything, even to the point of idiocy. Laódamas, what do you have to say for yourself?"

The giant's muscular shoulders drooped, but he spoke clearly and articulately. "Alcinous, father, I saw nothing to lose in bringing them here. If they truly belong to Them, to the dwellers below, then we may be able to use them as hostages or extract information from them."

"But if they do not," Nausicaa interjected, "then they must be enemies of the underworld as we are. We could share knowledge. They could aid us."

"And what if this is a ploy?" Alcinous shot back. "What if they are servants of those who rule below, waiting only to be led to our stronghold before they use their dark craft to escape us and tell the others where we reside? Did either of you consider that?"

Rudolf seized the opportunity. "We're not from the underworld," he spoke loudly, although hoarsely, as his throat was still sore from the seawater. "If by that you mean the dark building down there. The... ah... Undercollege." The tall rower spat out a gobbet of salt water. "They're our enemies all right. We left a friend down there - a girl, Cat. They took her prisoner, and the two of us barely escaped with our lives."

"Is that so?" The Ael patriarch narrowed his eyes. "Then whence do you come? Only those who are dark of mind dwell in the dark places of the underworld. It has never been any other way." He frowned. "And to enter Their realm from the outside, one must first pass through ours. Yet we did not see you pass through Charybdis, or through the Eye of Acheron. How, then, did you come to be there?"

"We... don't exactly know," Rudolf admitted. "It just happened. One minute we were in Cambridge, the next minute we were there." He sucked air in through his salty lips. "We're from another world, you might say."

Alcinous did not release him from his stern gaze. "Your story is highly unconvincing," he pronounced. "Laódamas, take them to the beach and gut them as they would gut us."

The patriarch's pronouncement caused some surprise among the other Ael. Halius's eyes widened, and a cry of "What?" emerged from Nausicaa's full lips. "Oh, for pity's sake," Rudolf cursed as Laódamas grabbed hold of one of his burly arms. "If we really were spies, do you think we'd have such a poor cover story?" He tried to pull free, but the giant Ael's grip was vicelike.

"See that it is done," Alcinous commanded.

This time it was Nausicaa and Laódamas who dragged Rudolf along through the tunnel, not without resistance on his part, while Halius bore Mike over one translucent shoulder. The two Ael seemed more than capable of restraining the tall rower while swimming along, and after a particularly painful thwack with the handle of Nausicaa's trident he subsided, instead trying to think of something else to say. "You're making a big mistake," was all he could manage.

"The stench of corruption covers you," Laódamas shot back.

Rudolf had to admit that he'd smelled better; crawling around caves and traversing underground rivers was liable to do that to one. "We're not monsters. We wouldn't gut you. We're progressive." Magdalene College even admits women these days. They'd emerged into the sunlight. Halius only grunted as he turned, hefted Mike out of the water and slammed him down bodily onto the grey sand of the beach. As he did so, something fell out of Mike's pocket. It was the copper casket.

The reddish metal glinted as it met the sun's rays, and the lid sprang open. Out onto the sands rolled a very strange object. On a white metal chain, the pendant could have been any other piece of jewellery - except that the enormous ruby that formed its centrepiece was alive, pulsating like a human heart, and every time it did so its baleful glow grew momentarily brighter. "Sister! It is the phylactery of Dolios," Halius announced. "The red-eyed one wears it often when he comes to hunt."

Both Nausicaa and Laódamas had turned to glance at this new sight, the female Ael even releasing his arm. Rudolf saw his chance, and sprang into action.

His feet were already dragging along the sand below the tide line. Instead of trying to pull away from Laódamas, he grabbed hold of the giant Ael with both hands, using him as a pivot point to swing his legs around and send his shins crashing into Nausicaa's head. The female Ael, light as she was, was propelled out of the water and landed heavily on the beach next to Mike, her trident spinning away and her smooth tail flailing helplessly. Laódamas emitted a low growl as he latched onto Rudolf's other arm, and the two grappled for a few seconds. Then Halius was upon him, his hands closing around the man's throat and pressing, squeezing. Points of light exploded across Rudolf's vision as the two Ael began to throttle the life out of him.

"Stop." A new voice reached over the commotion - or at least a voice Rudolf hadn't heard in a short while. It was Mike. All three of them twisted to see.

The engineer, previously so unresponsive, had retrieved the trident and clambered to his knees. Holding the weapon in both hands, he now towered over Nausicaa's limp form, the semi-conscious Ael squirming but unable to evade, a fish out of water. "Remember this," he muttered. Time seemed to stand still as he brought the trident's three points stabbing down.

Onto the phylactery.

The grotesque ruby screamed as the weapon's central spike pierced it, and crimson arterial blood spurted from the wound, spattering both Nausicaa and Mike as the pendant jerked savagely in its death throes. Once, twice, three times more it pulsed, on each pulse expelling more of its vital fluid, then finally it lay still, its glow fading.

Rudolf gaped. So did Halius. Mike just sighed and dropped the trident to the sand, raising his hands in surrender. "Now," he spoke wearily, "can we have another go at negotiating?"

*

Shaking his head in disbelief, Rudolf listened to Alcinous outline the plan.

"We will descend via the Eye of Acheron," the Ael patriarch pronounced. "Halius, you will lead a full phalanx of our warriors into battle. I would take the command myself, but my daughter tells me I am too old for such things." There seemed to be genuine regret in Alcinous's booming voice. "The enemies of our enemies, these men Mike and Rudolf, will be given time to retrieve their companion. Once they are successful, or once they are slain, you will call the retreat via the same route."

Rudolf winced. He'd only known the Ael for little more than an hour, as he reckoned it, but it was already becoming apparent that they were a painfully literal people.

"Remember," Mike added, "your role is to create a diversion, not to take on all the forces of the Undercollege on even terms. I don't doubt your prowess, but you probably know better than we do what dirty tricks our friend the Red-Eyed One and his cronies have up their collective sleeve. There'll come a time when we can root them out for good. For now, you're just helping us settle a score."

"And we're grateful," Rudolf added, clumsily. "I mean, really grateful."

The rower could barely believe the turnaround in their fortunes. Mike's act in destroying the 'phylactery' had apparently done what Rudolf's words could not, namely to convince the Ael that the pair of them were friends and allies, not enemies. More impressively, over the last hour or so, the engineer had managed to convince Alcinous and his offspring to aid them in sneaking back into the Undercollege and retrieving Cat. The old fish even seemed to think he owed them something for destroying the phylactery.

It's a strange world. Not our world, anyway. And not our place to question. He'd left most of the negotiation to Mike, anyway. Since the other man had awoken from his unresponsive state, Rudolf had been mightily impressed with his steely resolve.

"Then the bargain is struck," Alcinous intoned. "You may wish to rest. We will depart at first light tomorrow."

Rudolf, who had been treading water in the Ael's half-submerged tunnels for most of the past hour, did indeed wish to rest. "Back to the beach?" he asked Mike as the engineer swam away from the Ael patriarch, their business concluded. "I could do with a quick sunbathe after all we've been through." Mike nodded wearily.

"Do you really think this will work?" Rudolf asked, once they were away from the main body of the Ael. When Mike did not respond after a few seconds, he continued. "I'm amazed they agreed to help us at all."

"I think they were only too happy to find some small way in which they could strike back. They have a list of grudges against the Undercollege dating back centuries," Mike replied. "What we've suffered is nothing compared to what they've been through. At the hands of that tux-wearing Praelector. They call him Dolios, or the Red-Eyed One. Same guy. They claim he's been around for a couple of hundred years himself."

"Huh." Rudolf frowned. "That's weird." I must have zoned out during that part of the discussion. For a historian, Rudolf had never been good at remembering stuff about the past.

"They even claim that the whole race of them was created by the academics of the College," Mike continued, "back in the mists of time. Genetically engineered, so to speak. Then sent out to the surface of this world, so that they could be hunted for sport. That explains why they all speak English, anyway."

"And why their culture is shot through with bastardised references to Homer," Rudolf added. "But what about my question? Will this work?"

"Honestly?" Mike turned to face him as they emerged, once again, into the sunlight. "I don't know. Probably some Ael will die. Perhaps we'll die ourselves. But right now?" He blinked, then fixed his gaze on Rudolf's. "I don't even care."

At that moment, Rudolf felt more scared of the engineer's blue-grey eyes than of the distant blood-red irises of the ancient Praelector.

The Undercollege, Part 9: Revisitation

Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 14th June 2008

The door of the Combination Room swung gently open to reveal two figures. One, short and stout in a dark suit and bowler hat, bore an old-fashioned oil lamp in one hand. The other, clad in a dull brown greatcoat, was taller and broad-shouldered, his cropped black hair greying at the temples and framing a face that could have been chiselled from stone. While the first man's pinkish eyes were constantly darting from side to side in fear, the second's icy gaze was fixed into middle distance, and he appeared almost bored.

"Are you sure that's everything, Mr. Meldreth?" the stout man asked.

"Yes. Just pass me the lamp," came the curt response. "I'll hand the key back at the lodge when I'm finished."

With shaking hands, the stout man transferred the room's only source of light to Meldreth, but seemed initially reluctant to leave. "You don't want something to drink? I mean, it's the least we can do, after what you did for us. If you'd like a coffee - or something stronger - I can ask the catering staff to..."

"Oh, Heavens, no," Meldreth interrupted. "There's no need to bring them into this. Go back to your rounds. If I find myself in need of anything, I'll be sure to let you know." His blue eyes landed on the bowler-hatted man in a manner that could only be construed as a dismissal.

Fortunately, the man didn't need to be told twice. With a muttered "Thank you, sir," he shuffled out of the room and down the corridor, slamming the door rather hastily behind him. What sort of business is this for a porter to be involved in? This college hasn't been the same since '97, despite what they say.

Depositing the lamp and the key on a table, Meldreth placed his hands in his pockets and made his way between the heavy wooden tables to the room's bay window. When he was sure that the porter had departed and was out of earshot, he spoke, in a voice that was calm and authoritative. "Dawes."

Only little light filtered in from the Fellows' Garden behind the glass. It combined with the yellow lamp to reveal a dark, austere oak-panelled chamber. The only decoration upon the walls was a framed printout of a news article by the window where Meldreth stood, the paper yellowing slightly.

'GHOST SIGHTINGS HAUNT CAMBRIDGE COLLEGE
Peterhouse, the oldest of the Cambridge colleges, is hoping to make a local spectre a ghost of Christmas past by summoning an exorcist to banish the spirit and return campus life to normal...'

There was no response to Meldreth's call. He spoke again, more insistently this time. "Dawes."

Once again, nothing. The man in the greatcoat expelled air between his teeth and moved nonchalantly from his position at the window, seating himself on the end of one of the long benches by the broad stone fireplace. The third time he spoke, impatience seeped into his voice. "Dawes, dammit, it's me. Show yourself!"

This time a tapping started, soft and regular, seeming to come from behind the panels of the walls. It could have been water pipes, perhaps, or rodents. A few beats in, a gentle whistling began to emerge from the hearth. Meldreth simply shook his head. "I don't have time for games at the moment, Dawes. You and I need to talk."

The whistling from the flue crystallised into a sort of sigh, and at the same time an inchoate shape began to form by the fireplace. Superficially it resembled a long, bulbous cigar resting on its end, about one-and-a-half metres in height, but shifting within the cigar-like cocoon of ectoplasm a slightly built human figure could be made out if one looked carefully enough. Its facial features were completely imperceptible, but its clothes were not: it was dressed in a coat, waistcoat and breeches, with a wide, pilgrim-like collar on its shirt. Around its neck a length of bell rope was tied. One mournful hand held a wide-brimmed hat, which it waved loosely to add emphasis to its words as it spoke. "Meldreth. You're no fun at all."

Meldreth pulled his own coat more tightly around him against the sudden cold and glanced up at the spectre. "You've been a good little ghost, haven't you, Dawes? As quiet as a mouse. Quieter, in fact. Barely a squeak out of you for the past nine years." Standing, he drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and, producing a match, lit one, placing it to his lips.

"Nine years is not a long time to wait," the apparition called Dawes responded, "when one has been dead for over two hundred."

"Although," Meldreth continued, "I did hear reports of some terrorised female conference guests back in 2004."

"They deserved it," Dawes returned, petulantly. "They were sipping the College's best brandy and peddling some nonsense about feminist literary Marxism."

The dark-haired man laughed abruptly, blowing a cloud of tarry smoke through Dawes's incorporeal form. "You know as well as I do that that's not the point. We had an agreement, Francis. Back in 1997, we struck a deal."

"The terms of which were entirely dictated by you."

"Because I was the one holding all the cards." The steel had returned to Meldreth's voice. "The SCR called me in to exorcise you. To send you to Oblivion. But I was lenient. I told you I'd let you keep your foothold in this plane of existence, as long as you promised not to trouble anyone. I knew all along you wouldn't keep that promise. You know, I could still dispatch you to the hereafter..."

Abruptly the spectre turned away, sweeping around the room's perimeter. Wherever it passed, the knocking against the panelling grew in intensity. "You want something from me, Meldreth. What is it that you want?"

"Information," the only living man in the room replied. "The truth," he added. "You lied to me the last time we spoke. You didn't hang yourself because of Barnes's election as Master. There was more to it than that."

There was hurt in the disembodied voice when it answered. "You do me a disservice!" the ghost hissed. "Although..." The rattling subsided momentarily as the spirit seemed to consider something. "It must be said that Barnes was merely what tipped me over the edge. The second of what I considered to be two great failures of my time in office."

"Go on," Meldreth urged. "Tell me about the first, and I might consider postponing your banishment for another few years."

The room had returned to near silence now, the background noise subsiding as the spectre floated back to Meldreth. "I was the Bursar of this college," it began. "My highest duty was to protect and preserve the material well-being of the college, just as the Dean was to protect its spiritual well-being. When I was inducted into this office, my predecessor informed me what the role truly entailed. An item of great importance was kept in the College treasury. It was referred to as a Seal. Of all the possessions of this college, I was told, it was the single most valuable and important. I was to guard it with my life."

"I've never seen any great need for a distinction between physical and spiritual, myself," Meldreth mused. He'd been leaning against a wall and listening, arms folded across his sturdy chest. "But this is no time for metaphysical debate. Tell me what happened to the Seal."

"A man came to this College in 1785," the ghost replied after a short pause. "A scholar, from Hungary - a philologist. Highly recommended as a true Enlightenment thinker. His name was János Vörösszemű." Dawes's non-existent tongue stumbled over the foreign sounds. "I struck up a friendship with him; we had much in common. Curse the day!" The panels began to resonate with the sound of tapping again, but it quietened down almost as soon as it began. "One night he wished to view a manuscript stored in the treasury, one which he had seen before but which I had always retrieved for him. I had a meeting scheduled with the Master, to discuss his legacy, and so I did what I have otherwise never done before or since: I lent Janós my master keys." He sighed, a creaking in the floorboards. "The next morning, he was gone, and so was the Seal. We never saw nor heard from him again."

Meldreth remained silent, a distant look on his craggy face.

"For years we were the closest of friends," Dawes persisted. "His betrayal hurt me deeply - even more deeply than the shock I felt when I realised I had failed in my first duty to the College. Still, it has been many years." The floorboards creaked again. "Many, many years. If the Seal were found, and returned to the College, then maybe... maybe... I could find my rest." The spirit of the old classicist sounded wistful now, almost repentant.

Meldreth broke his reverie. "That will never happen," he responded. "If I'm right, the Seal was destroyed centuries ago, as soon as your Hungarian friend obtained it. I'm sorry, Dawes." He didn't sound it. "Perhaps only I can bring you peace now. But I want you to look at this." From a pocket of his voluminous coat he produced a compact camcorder, flicking it open and switching on the screen.

The bursar's ghost floated round his back to view it over his shoulder. The screen showed a large circular desk and glass turnstile on the left, dimly lit, and a revolving door on the right. "I don't recognise it."

Meldreth raised an eyebrow. "It's the foyer of the University Library. You don't get out much, do you?" When no response was forthcoming, he continued. "Watch carefully."

A blonde-haired woman burst onto the screen. Wearing a black gown and clutching something under her arm, she scrambled over the turnstile and ran to a smaller door next to the revolving door. Pushing it open, she disappeared into the night.

"That door was locked," Meldreth commented. "The security footage both from the inside and the outside shows that no one had touched it since the man on the evening shift finished his round and left. Yet it simply swung open on her touch."

"And what elucidation do you expect me to provide?" returned the ghost.

Meldreth shook his head. "Keep watching." A man now appeared on the screen. Tall, slender and gaunt, he was crisply dressed in evening wear. He vaulted the turnstile in one bound, and was rapidly making his way across the floor to the exit when Meldreth paused the tape. "Look at him. Take a good look." He slowly manipulated the screen to zoom in on this man's face: his narrow, sharp moustache, his stern jaw, and above all the crimson irises of his eyes.

Dawes's own inchoate eyes widened, if such a thing were possible. "That's him," the ghost breathed. "That's János. And he looks not a day older. How...?"

Meldreth didn't respond immediately, and when he did he spoke carefully and kept his voice neutral. "It seems that you're not the only two-hundred-year-old being in Cambridge, Dawes."

The Undercollege, Part 8: The Tower/Questions Answered

Originally posted on Facebook Notes, 15th May 2008

They'd been walking for some time now, the organic rock of the natural cavern giving way to a crudely blasted man-made passage. Its floor sloped gently upwards. Here the luminous algae did not grow, so that Mike was forced to use his Maglite to illuminate the path in front of them. Just as they were beginning to grow accustomed to the routine of trudging along in silence, a new space opened up before them. Rudolf swore as he nearly pitched forward into nothingness, dislodging a few skittering stones.

Flicking the beam of the torch upwards revealed that their corridor had opened onto a broad shaft, stretching into the blackness above and below them as far as the eye could see. It was circular in diameter, and the pathway spiralled both up and down in a deep groove around the circumference.

Rudolf surveyed their options. "Upwards or downwards?" he asked.

"While a journey to the centre of the earth might be appealing under other circumstances," Mike replied grimly, "right now a girl's life is at stake. We go upwards."

The taller man nodded. "Whatever you say, Chief." Without further words, they began to climb.

Neither of them noticed the wooden plaque affixed to the wall by the entrance to the passage. In worn, barely legible letters, it read:

THE TOWER
STRICTLY NO ENTRY UNLESS ALL SEALS BROKEN

*

"Me," Cat repeated, barely able to believe what she was hearing. She stared incredulously across at her dark-haired co-prisoner. "You were looking for me."

Mirabelle emitted a short sigh, and glanced at the stone flags beneath her feet. "I probably shouldn't have started by saying that. But yes, I was sent here to find you and two others..." She stopped short as Cat laughed abruptly. "What?"

"I don't even know where to begin with my questions," the mousey-haired girl responded ruefully, shaking her head. "Fine. Never mind. Let's start with: where exactly is here?"

"That, at least, I can answer," Mirabelle returned, stretching out her legs into a more comfortable position and crossing them at the ankle. Her voice had the confidence of a woman accustomed to teaching. "This place was one of the oldest Colleges of the University of Cambridge, although technically its name has been stricken from all records. It was known as Midwinter College, after its founding in 1358 on the 25th of December. Seven years later, the Master and Fellows of the College were found guilty of all manner of terrible crimes, not least among them necromancy and daemonology."

"Necromancy and daemonology?" Cat queried matter-of-factly, brushing hair out of her eyes as if it would help her see the issue more clearly. When she received a nod in response, she smiled. "Okay. Carry on."

Mirabelle was evidently taken aback by Cat's nonchalance, because it took her a moment to resume what she was saying. "Well... the Fellows of other colleges got together to protest, and the end result was that, by the Chancellor's decree, four of their number enacted a spell of banishment that spirited the whole college away to this dank pit. Which is where their members have been trapped ever since... until recently, that is."

"Magic," Cat mused. "Magic exists. That makes a lot of sense, I suppose." She shook her head and smiled. "So what happened recently to change the situation?"

"A lot of things," was Mirabelle's terse response. "But the result was that the spells of banishment were weakened. It became possible for individuals to travel from Cambridge to here, and vice versa, except for the most powerful of beings. Which is how you got here."

"And you," Cat prompted.

The dark-haired woman looked surprised at being asked about herself, then nodded. "Yes. Me too."

*

They had reached the top of the tower.

A massive plate of flat, dark metal cut all the way across the shaft above them, preventing all upward progress. It was smooth and unmarked except for two hatches. The smaller of the two was ahead of them on the path, which spiralled up to it and stopped. It was only just large enough for a person to pass through. The larger was circular and sat above the shaft proper, with no obvious access to it.

"I wonder what that's for?" Rudolf thought aloud.

"They must use it to haul things up and down from the surface," Mike replied. "Larger things, that wouldn't fit down the path. Imagine trying to get a grand piano down here. Or an Austin Seven."

"An Austin Seven?" Rudolf queried.

"You never heard that story? I'll have to tell you about it some time," the engineer responded. "Right now, let's get this door open." He grabbed the wheel-shaped handle on the hatch and turned it first clockwise, then anticlockwise, then grunted. "Huh. It's locked."

"There's a keyhole just above it," Rudolf pointed out. "Try the porter's keys."

Mike examined the lock for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Wouldn't do any good. The porter's keys are all lever lock keys. This one's a tubular pin tumbler lock - it needs a different type of key."

Rudolf, hunched over where the path spiralled into the metal disc above them, sighed and sat down. "Can't you get through it somehow with your special tool thing?"

"No," Mike shot back. "Can't you get through it somehow with your razor sharp wit?" They sat in resigned silence for a few seconds, then Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out the copper casket he'd picked up from the Praelector's room. It clicked open, and the first item within it was a long tubular key. Mike shook his head. "Well, I'll be damned." He pushed the key into the lock. It fitted, and the hatch slid upwards and backwards away from them.

They weren't greeted by sunlight. In fact, the room before them was as dark as the rest of the shaft. It was circular, fitting neatly on top of the tower, and about three metres in height. The walls and ceiling were formed entirely from plates of the same dark metal that formed the floor, welded solidly together.

"This floor is over a foot thick," the tall rower remarked as he emerged through the hatch after Mike. It slid shut behind him. "Somebody really wants to keep these people in."

"Smells strange in here," Mike muttered. "Like salt."

"Yeah, well shall we let in a bit of fresh air?" Rudolf responded, making his way over to a ladder set into the wall which led to another, similar hatch in the ceiling. "There's no keyhole on this one. God, I'll be glad to get out of here. How long have we been down here? A day?" There was no response from Mike. "Well, it seems like forever. Come on, let's go." He began to turn the wheel. There was some initial resistance, and then with a metallic screech it started to rotate.

"Wait," Mike said suddenly. "Rudolf, don't open it. I don't think this is all designed to keep us in. What if it's designed to keep something else out?"

But the taller man wasn't listening. The wheel reached its final position, and the hatch swung open.

*

"It's a good thing the spells are weakened," Cat continued, "or my friends wouldn't be able to get out."

Mirabelle's eyebrows drew together in concern. "There are others? Where did you see them?"

"I met them a while ago," Cat replied. "We couldn't find the way out, so we sneaked into the building - the College - and stole a map. I think the other two got away, so they'll be heading for the surface if they have any sense."

The older woman's already pale face blanched even further. "No... the surface..."

"What?" Cat demanded. "What's wrong? They'll be coming back to rescue us! Once word gets out that we're down here..." She trailed off.

Mirabelle was shaking her head. "I didn't tell you the full story," she said urgently. "This place... it's not just underground. It's in... what you might call a parallel world. Another version of Earth. Getting to the surface won't get them back to Cambridge. This world was never inhabited by humans."

"So?" Cat inquired. "Surely they'll just figure it out and come back. What's so bad about the surface?"

"The average temperature of this world has been a fraction of a degree higher than on ours for the last three thousand years," Mirabelle responded heavily. "And there were no Dutch engineers to build channels and drain the Fens."

It took a second for the implications to sink in, then Cat's eyes widened.

*

Cold saline water crashed in upon them.